


Where Wolves Fear to Tread

by KitLlwynog



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Post-Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 13:14:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8145368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitLlwynog/pseuds/KitLlwynog
Summary: Morrigan found out about the Dark Ritual, and it was a power she intended to have for herself. But she hadn't counted on falling in love with the young Dalish Warden, Fenvir. This is told mostly from Morrigan's point of view, and starts at the end of Origins, with plenty of flashbacks.





	

There had been a moment of fear. He had thrust the sword into the skull of the archdemon, and there was a blinding flash of light. Everyone looked away, except Morrigan. She owed it to him. If the ritual hadn’t worked…. But the archdemon did not stir, and through a shower of light, the Gray Warden Fenvir pulled his blade from the body of the blighted dragon.

A pulse of power drove her to her knees as she watched him fall, collapsing in slow motion. “No,” she heard herself stay, her heart squeezing painfully. In that moment, she didn’t care what others thought. She darted forward, rolling him over, cradling his head in her lap, and pressing her fingers to the side of his neck. His heartbeat pulsed strongly under her fingers and she let out a relieved breath. “He lives.”

*********************

People were already celebrating in the city below while they set up infirmaries inside Fort Drakon. Wynne did most of the work, and that was fine with Morrigan, but she tended Fenvir herself, over Alistair’s objections. 

“How can you still trust her?” he said to Wynne, probably throwing his hands in the air like the overdramatic fool he was. “She did something to him, in Redcliffe, and now she’s going to finish the job.” They were outside the closed door, but you’d have to be deaf not to hear Alistair’s shouting.

“Obviously, whatever she did was beneficial, since according to you, Fenvir should be dead,” Wynne said reasonably, before lowering her voice. “I have had my doubts about Morrigan as well, but you are a fool if you cannot see how much she cares for him. She is the last person who would harm him.” 

You give me too much credit, old woman, Morrigan thought wryly as she started to unbuckle Fenvir’s blood-soaked armor, but she appreciated the kind words more than she expected. Even if it felt like a stab in her chest.

“I wish I could believe you. But Fenvir is not just the Hero of Ferelden. He’s my best friend, and Morrigan broke his heart. I’d send the Templars after her, if I thought he’d ever forgive me.” 

Wynne chuckled in a motherly fashion. “Oh, Alistair. It’s good of you to watch over him. But take my advice and leave him to deal with his own romantic entanglements. He is a grown man…elf, after all. Now come. I am sure the people want to see their new King. Can’t keep them waiting, now can we?”

“Can’t we? I’m pretty sure I’m grievously wounded, actually. I might even be dying,” he protested as their voices faded into the distance. Morrigan realized that she’d been so busy listening that she’d stopped halfway through unfastening Fenvir’s bracers. She shook her head with a frown, but found herself unable to disagree with Alistair, for once. She had hurt Fenvir, in a way he hadn’t deserved. But the future of Thedas was more important than the completely pedestrian feelings between one elf and one woman. Wasn’t it?

When she had finally stripped him down to his underthings, Morrigan was glad to confirm that most of the blood was not his. The few wounds he did have were superficial, but she washed and bound them anyway. In a completely professional manner, she reminded herself, not letting herself linger over him, the silver tracery of scars on his bronze skin all too familiar. It told a story, the story of how one young elf had become a hero, a story that she had been a part of. Her eyes fell on his face, the faint line just over his eyebrow. It had happened the day they met.

*************

She crouched in the shadows, trailing the group of Wardens that, unlike everyone else in the area, was traveling deeper into the Korcari Wilds, rather than fleeing the darkspawn horde in terror. Flemeth had told her to look after them, and, despite her disdain for the average Ferelden, Morrigan did not wish to disobey her mother in this. Without being told, she knew this task was more important than it first appeared.

There were four of them, all men. Or at least, all male. She had watched them for three days, and discovered many interesting things. Alistair was the leader, the only full Warden in the group, his fighting style betraying his Chantry training. He was a weak-willed bumbler, if good-intentioned. There was a knight, an ox of a man named Jory who proved to be a cringing coward in any matter that could not be solved by bashing it over the head. The third man was called Daveth, slender and witty, his combat skills obviously learned on the streets. But the fourth was an elf. His name, Morrigan learned, was Fenvir.

That was odd in and of itself. The vallaslin of Sylaise announced his Dalish heritage for all to see, yet his name meant “Wolf Path.” Surely no Dalish would name their child thusly, when Fen’harel, the trickster wolf, was the enemy of their children’s nightmares? His name was not the only strange thing about him. He was not a full Warden, she knew that for sure. Spying on their campfire talk had earned her the knowledge that he, Jory, and Daveth were all new recruits to the order. They were here collecting the darkspawn blood they would need for the Joining ritual. Yet she could sense the Taint from him already. Faint, certainly, but there nonetheless. What did that mean?

There was something else she couldn’t help but notice. The others, even Alistair, deferred to his judgment. Not because he was particularly bossy, far from it. He was one of those people, she thought, who was a natural leader, projecting calm confidence without even thinking about it. After three days of observing, even she couldn’t help but admire him somewhat. All of his decisions were considered, never rash or irrational. Even in the heat of battle, each step seemed measured for the greatest effect.

She watched them take on the small group of darkspawn surrounding the ruined tower. Fenvir was an able combatant, fighting with grace and deadly accuracy, daggers whirling in a shining arcs of destruction. The creatures were soon dispatched, and, after a calm survey of the battlefield, he approached the broken chest, realizing what she already knew. It was long empty. Time to make herself known.

“Well, well, what have we here?” she said. Four pairs of eyes turned to her. Fenvir’s, she noted, were bright green with a blue-gray center. A gash over his eye bled sluggishly, and he brushed it away with the back of his glove. “Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, coming to these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?” She did her best to sound fierce. No reason to make things too easy for them. “What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?”

The others looked to Fenvir, their eyes filled with fear and suspicion in varying measure. He, on the other hand, seemed more curious than anything, though understandably guarded. “I am neither,” he replied in a calm voice, his eyes catching hers in a gaze more direct than she was used to.. “The Gray Wardens once owned this tower.”

“Tis a tower no longer. The Wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse. I have watched your progress for time. Where do they go, I wondered. Why are they here? And now you disturb ashes that none have touched in so long. Why is that?” Not that she didn’t already know, but she did wonder what he would say. Would he be truthful? Would he lie, threaten?

“Don’t answer,” Alistair muttered darkly. “She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.” Fenvir regarded Alistair with a raised eyebrow.

Moroccan snorted. “Ooooh. You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you,” she said, waving her hands in the air in mock terror.

“Yes,” he replied. “Swooping is bad.”

Daveth and Jory began to argue. The thin young thief knew the legends of the Witch of the Wilds. Though he was mostly correct about her identity, she disliked the assumption of cannibalism. Jory managed to be both pragmatic and whiny at the same time. She turned her gaze to Fenvir. “What of you? The Dalish do not hold such dim views of magic. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”

“You can call me Fenvir,” he said, quite politely. Alistair frowned.

“And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish,” She told them about the treaties. Alistair accused her thievery, Daveth and Jory fretted, but Fenvir simply watched, silent. And when the time came to make a decision, he immediately agreed to follow her to Flemeth’s hut.

Mother had enjoyed teasing them, but Morrigan could see her eyes glinting in calculation. It was not a terrible surprise when ordered her to escort the group back to their camp in the ruins of Ostagar. When she returned the following evening, Flemeth was waiting.

“So, girl, what did you think of the fabled heroes of old? Somewhat lackluster, for being all that stands between us and destruction, don’t you think?”

Morigan shrugged. “They were men. Much of the sort I have seen before.”

Her mother chuckled knowingly. She hated it. “Don’t attempt to ply me with falsehoods, my dear. I saw the way your eyes strayed to him, the elf.”

“Fenvir,” she replied automatically, scowling. “Very well. He was interesting, if only because there were several things about him I could not immediately explain. Even I noticed how the supposedly senior warden deferred to him, an elf and mere recruit.”

“Yes,” Flemeth agreed, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “He did have some depth to him. And such cheekbones. In my youth, I would have already bedded such a lovely young Elvhen.”

“Mother, you disgust me,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “But it matters not. They are back in their camp, and I certainly hope I do not see them again,” she said, going back into the hut if only to avoid her mother’ s keen-eyed stare.

“Hmmmm,” Flemeth said, watching her daughter’s retreating back. “Perhaps he will do even better than I imagined.”

********************

Morrigan sighed as she watched him sleep, peaceful for the first time since she had known him. The nightmares had disappeared along with the archdemon, she supposed. There was no longer any reason to linger. He was as well as could be expected, and when he awoke, he would find his armor and weapons clean and waiting for him. She had no doubt that once Ferelden learned he was alive, he would be busy receiving honors and presiding over celebrations for weeks. It was least she could do, but now she needed to go. The ritual had worked, she now knew, not only because he lived, but because, if she searched with her magic, she could feel the tiny flicker of life within her. Their child. His and hers. If he woke and she had not departed, she feared she would not be able to.

She knelt over him, allowing herself one last look, taking the hand that lay on the blankets. There was a little magical shiver of recognition from the ring on his finger. He hadn’t taken it off. Never, since she had given it to him. She felt tears come to her eyes as she leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. “My love. I’m sorry, for everything.” He sighed in his sleep, and she fled as quickly as she could.

 

Of course, Zevran would be waiting. “You’re going to leave him. Just like that?” he said, coming out of the shadows with a disapproving expression. “What is between Fenvir and I is no one’s business but our own,” she retorted with a scowl. 

“Except that you haven’t even told him your plans. Now, again, you will leave him bereft, and we shall be the ones to pick up the pieces. Who do you think it was that sat with him through all the long watches of the night when he could not sleep for nightmares, and you pretended indifference on the other side of the camp? You have used him for your own ends. Do not think I do not know with whom he spent his last night in Redcliffe.”

“He was aware that I would be leaving,” she said rather more desperately than she intended, trying to edge past the assassin to the front gate. “This matter is none of your concern, Zevran. Go away.”

“True, true. He can fight his own battles, of that I have no doubts. But you had better hope he continues to love you much more than you love him. If I thought for a moment that it would not break his heart further, I would make sure you never did so again. And that is something that should concern you very much.”

“I shall take that under advisement,” she replied, now becoming angry. “Now, kindly get out of my way. If you impede my further, I will not bother with foolish threats.”

“Have it your way. If there is any justice in the world, I pray you will live a long and terribly lonely life. He is too good for you.” Zevran turned and walked away without another word.

Morrigan escaped Fort Drakon without further interference, and in the crowd of refugees, one woman leaving the city did not attract any notice. But as she finally found herself on the road again she turned back to Denerim, her eyes easily finding the spire of the fortress where, even now, her lover might awaken to find her gone. 

Despite having told him more than once that this would be the case, she knew he had hoped she would change her mind. She could easily imagine the look of disappointment he would wear, a deep and lonely grief quickly hidden behind the facade of the Warden. He had worn such a look often enough, more than once because of her. And she also remembered their last conversation, before the final battle. It had been quick, out of necessity, as he informed her that she would accompany him to fight the archdemon, along with Alistair and Zevran. 

She had told him that she loved him, which she knew was a wholly selfish gesture, and he had fixed her with a look that frightened her even now. It was another expression she had seen him wear more than once, the face of unwavering determination. “I will find you, I swear it,” he had said. Having seen that same expression facing down dragons, politicians, darkspawn, a tyrant king, and the Blight itself, only to see Fenvir emerge the victor, she knew that he would. It was something she could not allow. Whatever she might want, she could not have him interfere with her plans. 

“Please do not follow, my love,” she whispered to the tower. “You are assuredly much too good for me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know I didn't really need another fic to write but I just finished Origins and I was really inspired to write from Morrigan's viewpoint.


End file.
